A Lone Wolf
by To.Be.Indeed
Summary: Sokka has lost a lot of people in his life, would he be able to loose another? Loneliness can hurt more than the deepest cut.
1. A Grim Discovery

A/N: Well, I fnially got the last chapter written, edited, post-edited, uloaded, and shuffeled into the structure edit. I have to say I have never been happier to be done with something in my life. Please forgive any mistakes, and tell me about them, changing this was difficult. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and try to look past the morbid nature of most of the story and wait for the end. It turns around, I promise.

disclaimer: We can put a man on the moon, but I still can't own AtLA. Unbelievable!

* * *

Sokka looked out on what was left of the horizon. Blue and white surf surged up, colliding with a profusion of reds and yellows that danced across the bleary sky. Slowly, his eyes began to drop, half from the light, but more because their flight had long since been far enough; he had been on the back of this beast since daybreak. He could feel himself slipping, longing for night to come, for him to be able to see the moon once again. It would be full by tomorrow night; Yue loomed in the deepest recesses of his memory, radiant gown flowing in his mind's eye.

He was almost gone, but a breach of peace, obnoxious and tired, emanated from his small, earthbending companion, "Are we there yet?"

Sokka rolled over on his back and put his hands over his eyes, "To-oph, you've said that like twenty times!"

"Twenty-five…" came the muffled voice of the pretty waterbending master not too far away from him. Presently, she had her face buried in her arms over the side of Appa's saddle and seemed just as jaded as her friends. The Avatar sat at the head of the beast, Momo lay sleepily on his shoulder.

Sokka blearily called to his friend, "Aang." No answer. "A-aang." The boy's head rolled over onto his shoulder, "Aang!"

Aang shot up, "What! What is – _WUHAAA-AA!_" The boy flailed his arms at the forehead of his bison as a startled Momo pulled at his collar, trying to get him back on board. With a gust of wind, the boy was back behind the horns panting and holding his chest. Something inside of him wanted to laugh, but Sokka was just too tired to accommodate this feeling.

"Aang, we need to land. It's getting dark." Aang had his head lolled back on the front of the saddle; he made a vague gesture with his arm to signify his agreement.

"You're right, Appa is getting tired anyway." He began to look around for an applicable scrap of land to settle on. Sokka looked out again from his side of the saddle, putting his hand up to block the glare from the sun. Far below, a miserable, crescent-shape patch of earth interrupted the endless tides; a heavily forested region to the east made dark by low, black clouds to the west. Momo blinked at it once before quickly walking over and curling up on the other side of Aang, blocking his view from the island.

"There's a good spot." Sokka pointed it out. Katara shuffled her way over to her sibling, rubbing her eyes. When she saw the island, a visible shudder ran down her spine.

She was suddenly very awake, "Are you sure that's a good spot?"

"It's the only spot." Sokka rebuked finally. "The place is fine. There's nothing _evil _or _mystical _about it. It's _fine!_"

"I didn't say that." Katara huffed.

"Well… you were going to, weren't you?" Truly she was, but that was beside the point. Even so, Sokka felt it too. An eerie feeling hung about the place, but his logical side would have none of it. _It's just rainy there, and the wind's blowing west, so there's no problem. No problem at all. _

"Any land is good enough for me!" Toph roared vehemently. Katara blew at a stray hair on her forehead and almost said something, but she seemed to decide against it and went back to her side of the bison. Appa began his sleepy descent towards the island as twilight settled in.

Immediately after they landed, Toph hoped off the bison and proceeded to make a lovely 'land-angel' in the middle of the clearing, proclaiming, "Ahh! Land, sweet land!" As the others departed Appa, she stood and grabbed her sack, "Well you've been a great audience," walking towards an open space by the forest line, she continued, "Don't forget to tip your waitress and watch for stray animals." She stomped the ground and sheets of rock arose in the form of an earth tent.

"Not so fast." Katara crossed her arms with authority. Toph froze, "You promised to start helping make camp."

Toph turned and put on her best puppy-dog (or what she had that was close to it) face, "But what if I said that I would really, _really _appreciate it if I didn't have to tonight?" Katara didn't back down an inch. The younger girl groaned in her surrender and tossed her bag in the tent.

"I'll take care of water!" called Aang from the other side of the campsite. Sokka acknowledged that he had heard him and watched as he spun his staff around, flaring the wings. With a gust of air, he flew up beyond the trees, his faithful lemur following close behind.

Minutes past and Aang didn't return. Sokka waited longer still, a slow prickle of worry creeping into his mind. The others felt it too, every crack of a twig was a return approach, and every animal call was the boy's certain doom. As the last bits of light threatened to disappear completely, Katara had had enough, "I haven't seen Aang in a while now; I'm getting worried."

Toph lay with her head against the outside of her earthen quarters chewing a twig as she spoke, "Twinkle-toes can handle himself. I mean, he's the Avatar! And besides, _I _taught him how to earthbend." As if correcting her, a huge explosion sounded in the distance. The group jumped up, now able to see smoke and flame rising from the dark treetops.

Sokka took command, "Aang's in trouble, lets go!" The threesome bounded into the woods; a cold sweat began to run down Sokka's brow, making him shiver in the dusk air. The clamorous sound of battle grew in their ears the closer and closer they drew. Finally they broke the tree line, revealing a small encampment of three disheveled tents and a spent fire beside the bank of a stream running parallel to the group.

"Aang!" Sokka shouted, and then he saw him. High in a tree above the battle, the young Avatar dodged the fire blasts sent at him from a group of three masked Fire Nation soldiers. Much of the upper foliage had already been ignited, and it was spreading fast. Sokka started to bark out an order, but Katara was a step ahead of him. She ran to the edge of the stream and swung her arms up in the direction of the flames, creating a fountain of sorts that worked to quickly douse them. The soldiers took immediate notice, and directed their attention at their new foe.

Seizing the opportunity, Momo leaped down from his secluded position in the trees onto one of the soldier's helmets, spinning it around before flying away. As the soldier righted his helmet, Sokka ran in front of him, catching him off guard. With a solid swing to the side of the head with his bone knife, Sokka sent the soldier reeling back. Aang leaped out over him from the branches, spinning in mid-air to face his enemy. As he hit the ground, he swung his staff down in front of himself, creating a formidable gust of wind that tossed the soldier into a nearby tree and knocked him out cold.

The next firebender prepared another blast for the two of them, but he was sent flying forward by a spear of rock from behind. The dim witted man landed on top of his companion with a string of moans and low curses. With only one left, the group made a semi-circle, enclosing the enemy. On his side farthest from the river stood Aang, then Sokka, Toph, Momo, and Katara, all drawing a fighting stance and glowering fiercely. The man's knees shook violently, threatening to give, "I don't get paid enough for this!" and with that he did an about-face and ran into the woods, tail between his legs.

Behind them, the conscious remainder of the pack was dragging his friend along after the first one. As the tension was released from the abandoned campsite, Toph let out an uproarious _whoop_, "Yeah! We showed 'em!" Katara and Aang smiled in common agreement.

Katara's smile dropped, "Where's Sokka?" She found him standing by the ruins of one of the tents, clutching something in his hand. When he turned around, he bore a morbid expression. Katara and Aang were there in a flash while Toph remained in the same general spot, looking on with polite concern. Wordlessly, Sokka opened his hand to his friends. In it lay a torn scrap of blue cloth – bearing a Water Tribe insignia. Katara gasped.

"But Sokka, isn't your father supposed to be stationed just a few miles from here?" Aang asked. Sokka just nodded, not looking at the young airbender.

Katara's eyes began to swell and water and she turned towards the forest, "They can't have gone too far," she said, voice cracking slightly as she started for the tree line, "We can still catch them if -- "

Sokka grabbed her by the arm, "Katara, you can't save him."

"Let go of me!" she screamed ripping her arm away, "We have to try! He's my dad, Sokka!" Tears were steaming openly down her face now and she shook through clenched fist and jaw, fighting back sobs.

"If there were enough to destroy all those ships, we would just get slaughtered." Sokka put his hand on her shoulder, "I know it's hard, he was my dad too --"

"Don't say that!" She shouted, swatting his arm away and slamming her fists into his shoulders, "He _is _your dad!" She stared straight into her brother's eyes for a moment before collapsing into him, sobbing uncontrollably, "He _is_. He is…" Sokka held her close, unable to find the right words for comfort. Aang went to her and she released her brother to clutch Aang, who held her back ten fold.

Toph stood stark still, absorbing the sadness of the air, but unable to understand all of what had happened. Sokka just concentrated on a spot on the ground by his feet, gripping the scrap of cloth…

The moon showed very brightly that night. It cast playful shadows about the campsite that accompanied the happy song of the night critters, deceiving the sorrow of the air. Hours had past since the discovery and most of the camp lay in a fitful sleep, but Sokka stared openly at the moon with a placid expression. All night, there was but one thought ringing through the corridors of his mind: _I won't let it happen again. _He wanted it to stop, just for a moment, so he could absorb the enormity of his contemplation. What was he supposed to do? Stop an entire army of Fire Nation thugs – thugs that had defeated his _father_? Perhaps a more urgent consideration was: How could he not?

With morbid consent, he stood up from his chilly mat, eyes still on the happy decadence of the moon. It was nearly all he could muster to look away. In stealthy haste, he gathered his gear, drawing twine around his holsters and things to prevent their usual clanking. He came to a rest beside his sister; her skin glowed brilliantly in the soft moonlight. The serenity of her expression mocked the glossy streaks running down her face. Sokka went down to one knee and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. He pulled her blanket up around her shoulders and allowed his stare to linger for a moment. He bent down, kissing her temple lightly and whispering into the calm, "I promise I'll come back."

Sokka trekked back down the path towards the clearing by the stream. When he reached it, he found the site exactly as it had been left, but there was a complication. Beyond the tree line on the other side of the clearing lay a vast expanse of forest, all but make invisible by stark, black clouds looming overhead. Apparently, the wind had changed course in the hours since their arrival. He found courage in his bone knife, unsheathing it and stalking cautiously into the unknown. The inky gloom descended upon him like a curtain. The cheery resonance of the night bugs was replaced with eerie _whoops _that echoed around the trunks and _cracks _that stood his hair on end.

He ignored them as much as he could, walking deeper and deeper into the cool blackness. Chilling wind howled forbiddingly through the dark branches, carrying with it the faint odor of rot – and blood. He strained his eyes in vain against the ubiquitous darkness, and more than once he stumbled over large roots jutting up from the forest floor. The ghostly screech of some unnamed beast echoed through the black woods; Sokka turned fervently in all directions, his weapon at the ready. He backed up, his foot became tangled in a thrash a tall weeds and he fell to the ground with an ominous _thump_. It was becoming startlingly obvious that the boy did not know where he was going – or how to get back.

Suddenly, a pinprick of light shined from far off in the distance. It grew in intensity until it nearly blinded him, and just as quickly faded into nothing. He stood, continuing with an apprehensive gait in the direction of the light as it continued to illuminate, grow to an intense brightness, and fade out. He was cut off abruptly by a tangle of bushes and brambles; the light was coming from the other side, entering his view through a hole in the foliage. With a deft slash from his bone knife, he ripped down the curtain and saw immediately the source of the mysterious glow: a large, circular device lit from the inside and opened at one end, creating an oscillating searchlight.

But it was not this that coaxed an astounded expression from the boy, but rather what it sat atop. Below the searchlight stood a large steel pillar adorned with a long, decrepit tapestry bearing the Fire Nation insignia, and connected to that was the eastern side of a great, square, walled fortress. Each corner of the fortress had a pillar much like this one, equipped with a similar light. There was no roof, and the inside wall seemed to be lined with steel structures of all shapes and sizes. The middle part of the fortress, however, was open, giving the appearance of a stadium. The main difference being that in the center of the stadium was an enormous bonfire, from which poured black smoke that reached up into the sky in a deathly spire, adding to the apparently artificial cloud cover.

Sokka stared open-mouthed and wide eyed down from his elevated position on top of a cliff overlooking the stadium. All around it, he could see where forest had been leveled; singed tree stumps and black foliage showed faintly in the shadow light from the bonfire. He turned his head and squinted as the searchlight roamed over his face, obscuring his vision. When the beam had retreated and he opened his eyes, he made another discovery: there was a series of switchback trails descending the cliff face not half a mile to the northwest of his hiding spot.

It was pitch black in the shadow of the stadium wall. Sokka pressed his back up against the cool steel and held his breath as a bright circle of yellow light passed only a few feet in front of him. With urgent steps, the boy crept farther along the wall until, at last, he reached the base of the northeast tower. His palm sweated on the grip of his bone knife as he peeked cautiously around the corner of the entryway cut into the metal. He saw no one.

Sokka stole into the dim room expecting anything and everything around every corner. An eerie silence was punctuated by a low noise in the background: a roar that grew and faded like a steady tide. He drew closer to the sound and found himself taking no heed of the corridors around him, knowing somehow that there would be no one there. At the end of the walkway was another opening that mimicked the first, but with a bright light on the other side of it, instead of darkness. The roar was getting louder, pounding on his ears like a drum.

As he rounded the corner, he discovered the source of the commotion – cheering. Though, it was not precisely cheering – but a bloodthirsty tumult coming from a congression of black-cloaked spectators. They sat atop roofs and in windowsills of the buildings and on benches that set in no particular place, all directing their various jeers at some show of sorts in front of the bonfire. Nearest the fire was a group of three stakes, to which were tied three dark masses, and at the very center of the circus of horrors was a man of obvious importance. He was tall and solid in stature, but his facial features were unknown, shadowed as they were by the backlighting. He too wore the black cloak, but his had a large Fire Nation insignia borne on the chest, flickering stark red in the firelight.

"Calm! Calm!" He was shouting with hands raised at the crowd, "This is a night of grandeur, to be sure! But there are matters to be dealt with yet!" The roaring lowered to a dull rumble, punctuated by the occasional shout from a particularly excited bystander. "Listen closely, my brothers. There is a story to be told. A story we have only known in bedtime stories from long ago."

The crowd was eating out of his hands. His voice rose, cutting the air like a knife, "These men have claimed to see the Avatar!" the tone turned, becoming a low drawl, "The _downfall_ – of us all." For a moment, not a sound was to be heard save the crackling of the fire. Then, with intense vigor, the man started to laugh. The crowd followed suit, making an uproar fit for a parade, "Fools! Every one of them! The Avatar is long dead – We have nothing to fear!" His voice rose insanely, feeding the malice of the air, "Nothing can stop the Fire Nation! _Nothing_ can stop the great Lord Ozai!" The throng reached an unheard of din as the man gesticulated wildly about in a frenzy.

"Can you feel it brothers?" he screeched, "Dawn is approaching!" Sokka snapped out of a sort of trance; he could feel it too. There was no light, the smoke made sure of that, but suddenly the whole arena was struck with an oppressive heat. It swelled until the very air around him began to deform and blur the outlines of the various people about the stadium. Likewise, with every second the jeers of the firebenders became more and more fervent; passion – bloodlust – erupting from their gaping mouths.

"These man are _dirty, filthy, loathsome _liars," The man was saying in a grim tone, "Theyare _traitors_ to the Fire Nation – enemies to the brotherhood of the dark woods!" His voice grew in ferocity with every statement, finally hitting a pinnacle with another uproarious and sinister laugh. "I believe we _all _know what we do to liars!" He turned on the figures behind him, sending out a wave of fire, causing them to fall to the ground. "And _what _–" He stomped in front of himself with his right foot, shooting fire from the sole of his boot, "We _do_ –" the other foot crashed down in front of the first with still more fire, "To _traitors!_" He finished dramatically, throwing his hands up and wrapping himself in a ball of fire. The last word sent the crowd into a chaotic tumult; those able took to their feet and all _whooped _loudly, waving various limbs in the air.

The large man's cloak burned and fell away, revealing black armor much like its red counterpart that a Fire general would wear. On either side of his waist were two, heavy knives, cased in singed leather. The fireball died away leaving only scarce wisps of fire that danced around his body, growing and dieing in turn with his breath. He stomped maliciously towards the men standing at the foot of the fire, none moving, but looking obviously shaken, even in the shadows of the night. As he neared him, the man in the middle stepped back, eventually having his progress halted by the stake he had previously been tied to. The large man did not stop, however, and upon reaching the frightened bender, he grabbed him by the forehead. With a dull _crack_ the man's head was slammed against the stake, causing him to stagger away towards the rightwards soldier when he was released, apparently faltering on the edge of consciousness.

The general turned to face the other men…


	2. Hell's Colosseum

The soldier to the left of the intimidating figure of the general had apparently abandoned all hope of escaping this fight; with a swift movement he sent a fire blast straight at the large man. It was blown away with a mere flick of the wrist by the black armored menace. With the prospect of a good fight at last, the man lunged at his captive, brandishing studded brass knuckles welded to the fists of his armor. The first blow knocked the wind out of the man, landing right in the middle of his stomach. This was followed by a quick succession of blows to the mid-section, each seeming to dull the soldier's spirit a little more. He staggered backward and made a valiant attempt at a right hook, which was quickly met by his opponent with a hook of his own, breaking the lesser man's hand with a bloodcurdling _pop _and a scream to match. A left hook to the side of the head was followed by a lightning quick right jab in the center of the eyes; blood issued from the soldier's nose like a faucet.

At the end of his rope, the man swung his useful arm lamely. The other man caught it and spun him around, pulling it up forcefully behind his back, straining the joints. The general dragged his captive over to a nearby post and grabbed him by the back of the head. Again and again the black armored hand smashed his head against the post, blemishing the wood and utterly destroying the man's face. He let him go, throwing his arm out and spinning him like a ballerina. Quickly lowering his stance, he thrust both of his fists into the chest of the man as he spun around to face him, sending him flying down to the ground with a fiery discharge. The man lay there, bloody and groaning, fighting every second to stay alive.

The general paused for a moment, but then spun around on one heel sending a wave of fire up his body that quickly disappeared into the night. The men looked grim and nervous in their respective stances, staring the general down with little heart. The man who'd had the back of his head smashed was shaking very noticeably. With a general cowardice, he turned tail and ran as fast as he could, evoking some sort of primal rage within the general. With an enormous roar he sprinted after the soldier, pushing the other one out of the way without so much as a second glance. When he was in range, he jumped into the air flaming brilliantly and drawing the knives out in mid-flight. The soldier cried out as the general landed on him, throwing him into the dirt. He tried to move his hands – only to find that they had been pinioned to the ground out in front of him by two, heavy blades.

The downed soldier only stared silently at the blood as it mingled with the dusty earth, slowly becoming a thick, black paste. The general grabbed him by the bloody scalp and buried his face into the baking earth. Suddenly a blast of fire caught the general from behind, dimming his flames and pushing him off of the pinned man. With mocking laughter, the general leisurely stood and faced his adversary. He started toward him; picking up pace with every step, and it was on every step another blast was sent his way, just as quickly being swatted into non-existence like a bothersome fly. Soon he was upon him, but just as yet another desperate flame began to emerge from the man's left fist the general executed a swift roundhouse, catching him on the inside of his forearm. The elbow met the side of the wooden post closest to its owner, causing it to split at an odd angle with a morbid _crack _that was very nearly obscured by an aggrieved, macabre scream from the wounded man.

Wasting no time, the general grabbed the man by the split appendage, bending it more and more and all the while aggravating the thrash of bone and sinew with his thumb. The man grimaced against the pain, but soon it was too much and he gave in to deep, sobbing screams stoked by his plainly imminent doom. The bellows were cut short however, by a solid jab in the nose from the general's free hand, causing the man to go slack-jawed. Again and again he was hammered by a relentless foe, the loose jaw flailing wildly on his face, and soon the arm was abandoned in favor of landing blows in a greater succession. The general slammed his right down in a devastating haymaker; the man's jaw crashed together, chipping the enamel off his teeth.

His knees buckled, and as he sat there, bleeding from every usual orifice on his face and several new ones created by the general, he stared blankly at the face of the grim reaper himself, wearing black armor. The general walked casually around the distraught, and yet placid faced man, taking a knee at his back. Grasping the underside of his jaw with one hand and the opposite shoulder with the other, he prepared for the final blow. Tension exploded in the stadium as the neck broke; barley covering up the ominous _pops_ it created. As a new excitement from the first death filled the air, a mangled, morose man rose to meet the manifestation of malice made mad by the mere mention of blood. Still barely conscious, the soldier charged the other man with what energy he had left by ducking his head and putting his hands out in front of him.

The general simply grabbed him around the wrists, effectively stopping the attack. He pulled the arms upward, keeping the wrists together and rotating them back until his hands felt hindquarters. A series of _cracks_ and dubious moans indicated that they had successfully broken. The man was left staring face to face with a madman in an evil sort of hug. The general let the limbs fall uselessly to the man's sides and spun him around, putting him in a chokehold.

Slowly, with a morbid laugh, the general let his free hand slide down the soldier's chest to his barley-clothed stomach. Steam began to issue from the underside of his hand and the man began to scream – to panic for being unable to quell the fire on his gut – to rage for being unable to move his arms. The crowd roared more sadistically with each passing second; the general's hand had already burned through the fatty layer below the surface of the skin and blood began to trickle out of the wound, soon becoming an unstoppable river. The hand was quickly lost as the man's screams became choked and sputtering from the amount of blood emanating from his own mouth.

Slowly, the man's struggling became less aggravated, his kicks less violent, and soon – too soon – his struggle stopped altogether. The general, however, continued to let his arm writhe inside the corpse of his late comrade. After a few moments, the hand returned from its journey bloody and gleaming – holding the heart of a dead man. The tumultuous jeers from the crowd shook the very rafters of the buildings on which they sat; the general held his prize up to them with valor. Dropping it on the ground, he opened his arms wide, "Now, my brothers, we have but one matter to attend to!" He gestured for two men sitting on windowsills nearby to come and help him with something. The general whispered something to them and they jogged over to the remaining living soul on the field, "This one has had the infinite _audacity_ – the complete _cowardice_ to run away from his destiny! You, Ping," Ping – somehow the name gave the man, previously just another doomed soul, a whole new layer of humanity, "You shall receive the _inhumane _punishment!"

The crowd jeered and screeched and spit at this with pure sadistic elation. The men sent to the now sobbing Ping's side grabbed him by the waist and yanked, evoking a terrible scream as the knives sliced through his hands and spilled warm blood all over the glowing earth. They dragged him over to where the general was; he had already used a wave of fire to sever a post at its mid-point. Fighting against the struggling Ping, the two men tied him the best they could while the general wrapped his wounds with cloth from the struggling man's shirt to quell the blood flow, "Wouldn't want you passing out on us, would we Ping?" Without any further ado, the general parted the fire with a grand movement of his arms as the two men carried Ping right to the middle of the smoldering woodpile and set the stake.

The man tied to the log was too scared to breath, let alone try to escape. The helpers vacated to a safe distance beyond the general, his arms still held to the black sky. Ping was well lit by the fire, now on all sides; Sokka could make out his thick, medium-length hair; tall, thin frame; right down to every hair from the soft stubble on his chin. His slim mouth twitched as if trying to find the right words to appeal to the general's better nature – words to save his life. His deep, big eyes were opened wide with shock and fear, fixed eternally – desperately – on the keeper of his fate.

And suddenly, there were only screams. Screams – as the general's arms fell and the crowd relished in the downfall of one of their own. Screams – as the fire closed in and swallowed Ping, his own element, the one thing that had likely kept him alive all this time, devouring him with sick, twisted irony. Screams – as Sokka remembered his father. He bit down on his hand to suppress his outburst, fighting back tears both from the pain – and the sudden fall from hope.

The smell of burning flesh filled his lungs, ash scratched his throat and his vision began to blur. But he had come too far to turn back now; he just needed somewhere to hide, that's all – somewhere to gather his thoughts. He found it in a stack of logs near a building a few yards from the gateway he was standing at. He ducked into the middle of the pile and held his breath against the surge of fear and hate he felt inside of him. Little by little, the screams died down, the people left to go about their daily routine, and the crackling of the fire itself seemed to calm and burn less ferociously. It was not long before it was completely silent all around his improvised Fortress of Solitude. And though Sokka's mouth was tightly shut, and not a living soul was there to disturb the placid silence, the screams would never, ever stop.

* * *

"Damn it! You were supposed to be out here hours ago!" Sokka jumped into consciousness inside the dark cubby of timber – who was talking to him?

"Alright already! I get it!" Another voice, closer than the first, groaned in response. The voice continued in a lower tone, "_Geese, _it's not like _you _are impervious to the wineskins either, ya' –"

"What was that?"

"Don't _worry_ about it!" Came the curt reply. There was a stern silence, and Sokka strained his ears to figure out what was happening. He began to relax as he heard retreating footsteps, but the fear quickly returned as he felt the wood shifting around him. Beyond his barrier, the boy could hear stifled grunts followed by the hollow _clunk _of wood hitting wood. It was only a matter of time before they would reach him. Small holes revealed the same duskish twilight from before.

The final log was lifted out of place – "Hey!" Sokka reached for his boomerang, "Unless you want to be on the next wood gathering team, that's enough for tonight." The wood dropped suddenly, whacking Sokka firmly on the nose. Fighting back a shout, Sokka held his breath and listened as several vague mumblings of consent emanated from close by, soon followed by the creak of a heavy laden cart being pushed away. When it had finally gone, the boy let out a pained sigh of relief.

Sokka pushed out from his hiding spot, knocking several logs to the ground. He looked around and could see and man down by the bon fire now, chucking wood into the heart of the flame. A sick feeling came over him as he realized that the man indeed was aiming for the smoldering remains of the late Ping, still tied to the post. He suddenly felt nauseous, images of his father fluttered through his mind, making him dizzier. He turned away fighting back a wretch. _I'll find him_, he assured himself.

Sokka hurriedly took in his surroundings. Now that he was inside, he could see that the stadium was divided into four sections: the northeast section, where he was now, was apparently the more industrial side, with an armory and a smithy among other work and battle related provisions; the southeastern part appeared to be the living accommodations for the men and it was joined to the industrial side by a kitchen; it was hard to make out the northwestern and southwestern sections, but the northwestern section seemed to have much larger buildings of much more grandeur than the rest of them. Across the field, Sokka could hear a general calamity of music and laughter. It seemed that most of the residents were at some sort of party, the begrudging rest were either lugging heavy carts around or sleeping where one would suppose a guard might usually be standing watch.

No one was around, so Sokka made for the large buildings in the northwest, sticking close to the wall to preserve stealth. As he walked, from the corner of his eye, he spied a large man with such an imposing aura, such an intimidating gait, that it could be none other than the general. His new cloak did not bear the insignia, but Sokka could tell just the same. He was coming out of the largest of the buildings, a three-story faux palace crafted of cold, grey steel, and heading directly for a smaller, two-story building about twenty feet away.

The man disappeared behind the squeaking front door. Fighting his urge to run in after him, Sokka began looking for an alternate entrance. He ducked into the alley behind the building where he came upon a heavy ladder fastened to the steel that extended up to a miniature bastion connecting the outer wall and the rear of the building. With breathless apprehension, the boy climbed to the top to find another door leading into the second story. He drew his weapon and, holding it close at the ready, peaked his head inside. His greeting was only solemn darkness. Satisfied that he was alone enough, he quietly moved into the room.

There was an oppressive stench in the room, surely unlike anything he had experienced – though it was strangely familiar. He bumped into a thin pole, examining it to find that it was a torch, used very recently, but not often. As he continued through the room, Sokka found that the floor sloped upward sharply, coming to a ledge at about chest level. He ran his hand along the ledge until it found a small, rounded lip shadowing a wooden tabletop. Suddenly, a wave of flame erupted up the wall ten feet in front of him, sending a shadow over the area he was in. He could see that he was standing on some sort of balcony overlooking a very, very bleak room.

Below him, blood and entrails were stained all over the otherwise bare walls; human remains of every kind imaginable burned away at the touch of the vindictive flame. Sokka nearly wretched again as he remembered why the stench was so familiar. From the ceiling dangled two heavy chains ending in two tattered, black tarps. Standing in the corner was the general under his cloak and hood, feeding a vicious fire that burned mysteriously down the length of the back wall. The way the room was built, it gave anyone in the balcony a perfect view of the lower floor, while keeping eyes down below from being able to discern much more than a wavering shadow above their heads. The man turned around, and lowered his hood.

The fire jumped suddenly, wisps of flame licking the metal-plated ceiling; the man was staring right at the, ironically, frozen boy. Sokka stared right back into the face of evil. He had scars that pockmarked every corner of his face; thick, short hair streaked with grey; but most noticeably of all was a black eye-patch over his left eye, tears of dry blood staining his cheek below it. For a moment, neither moved a muscle, three immobile eyes waiting for any hint of a twitch. After the ghost of an eternity, the general seemed to be satisfied that there was nothing to his staring and replaced his hood. Sokka let out yet another inaudible sigh of relief and sank onto the floor. That face – he would never forget that face as long as he lived.

By now, Sokka's heart was racing, but a slight creaking noise in the blackness made it stop dead in its tracks. Someone was coming in; he had to hide – fast. As stealthily as he could muster, he scrambled underneath the table next to him. By the sound coming from the corner, he could make out two people, probably the same two that had put Ping – no, he wouldn't let himself think of that now. They pulled out the chairs in front of the table and sat down; Sokka slid as far back as he could to avoid their boots. Above him, two small candles were lit inside the lip covering the edge of the table, illuminating a small area around them in a faint, ghostly glow. For a moment, Sokka thought he was done for sure, but all he heard was the clinking inkbottles. He was safe – for now.


	3. An Eye For An Eye

One of the men seated at the table beat the dry end of his brush on the table a few times in no particular manner. Suddenly, the General began to speak, "Good evening, gentlemen. I hope you slept well." It was a different sort of speech than the previous night, calm and formal. The men at the table were writing furiously, apparently taking down every word the general spoke. He heard a heavy tarp fall to the floor, "I believe you are Bato of the Water Tribe, correct?" No answer. "Good… and you are second in command to… you." Another cloth hit the floor, "Admiral Hakoda of the Water Tribe." Sokka's heart was pumping a mile a minute; he was so excited about finding not only his father alive – but Bato as well? Between the calm vocalizations and the excitement of such a discovery, he seemed to forget that the pair was hanging from the ceiling in front of a murderer.

"I am General Fa-Bei. But you may call me," Sokka heard the flutter of a cloak being tossed in the air, "The Black Executioner." It came flooding back to him now. He was out of the frying pan and straight into the fire, and much, much too literally. "Now, I'm not here to mince words by any stretch of the imagination. There is one thing that I want to do now, and that is to _kill _both of you." His voice trilled with anticipation at the thought, "Make no mistake about this – you are going to die here. Maybe not today, maybe not for a very long time indeed… but you _will _die. Exactly how long it takes – just how _painful _it will be – is entirely up to you. You just have to answer me." The only sound was the gentle _chink _of the chains swaying back and forth.

"Now then, Bato, where were you going to before you were intercepted?" Silence was the only response. Sokka could hear slow, heavy footfalls from down below, "Where are you coming from? What happened to all your sea charts?" The footfalls stopped, "Well, if you won't tell me." Fa-Bei chuckled a little to himself. Suddenly, an enormous roar echoed through the room. Even form under his table, Sokka could see bright flames shooting above the ledge behind him; Bato's chain shook violently on its hinge. As the flames died down, he could hear low, stifled grunts coming from below, "Where are your sea charts!" the general raged.

The flames picked up again, and more pitiful sound emanated from the recipient. "I see that you're resilient against fire," A moment's silence, but then a gentle hissing noise began to sound. The chain clinked a warning of pain and rage; Sokka clenched his jaw tightly as he listened to Bato's injured groans. The general laughed quietly with utter malice at the writhing man, _splat_. Bato had just disrespected his torturer immensely, Sokka surmised. This was followed by a general grouse from the gross general, "Not a wise choice, Bato." He began to laugh, but his laugh quickly turned to turned to violent shouts as several dull thumping noises rang through the room.

Bato began to grunt and moan as the thumping gave way to a _crunch_, which then gave way to a wet, splashing sound. Sokka covered his ears, trying to block out the gruesome sounds of a dying man, trying to loose himself in the hopes of getting his father back. He was brought back to reality, however, as one of the soldiers put his foot up against the ledge underneath the table. He was reclining, sitting back as if watching a performance. Sokka's fist tightened around his bone knife, raging against the _audacity _of this man to take such leisure at the torture of someone who had been like an _uncle_ to him. Abruptly, the general's unremitting thrashing was halted by another grunt and a clinking of the chain on the other side of the room. _Dad, _Sokka thought, finally remembering that Hakoda was still there.

"Fa-Bei! You coward! You may do as you will to our bodies, but you can never break our spirits! We are too good for you! We do not soil our names and our people by using such senseless violence!" Sokka's grip lessened on his knife, to take action now would only dishonor his father, and his people. He did not need violence; he had his cunning. But now was not the time to use either one, trapped as he was by the men seated at the desk above him.

Fa-Bei's voice resonated clearly through the torture chamber, "Ever since it happened, I have wondered what it felt like to take my eye from me, Hakoda. And now you are, _so conveniently_, here by my side. Would you be so kind…?"

"It was the best moment of my life." Was the terse reply.

"_Really?_" said the general, "Well, I don't suppose that I have to tell you what it felt like from _my _end of the bargain." Sokka could make out the distinct sound of a knife being removed from its sheath, "But why _tell_ you," A slightly startled gasp came from 's both parties down below, "When I can _show _you?" Sokka's ears strained and his eyes opened wide to match his gaping mouth; his father's breathing became laborious and distempered. Sokka lay static and gaunt-faced, eavesdropping on his father's agony. The general breathed deeply with sadistic elation, taking his time in his foul deed. Sokka jumped when he heard the spray of blood – and Hakoda's anguished howl.

A lump held fast in Sokka's throat as his father's breathing returned to a staggered pant. A small plop on the floor… a morbid _squelch_ – and he knew the eye was no more. The general began his cruel shot at a laugh – the inhuman mocking mirth of the Black Executioner. "What do you know? That _was _great!" The old heavy footsteps echoed throughout the chamber once again, "I have to say, you are entertaining. Perhaps even more than your little friend here." Another squishy _slap_ from down below, _Bato_, thought Sokka pleadingly. "Yes, he has begun to _bore _me." Sokka could almost _feel _the smile creeping up on Fa-Bei's lips, "And I only _need _one of you, now don't I?" Sick, perverse cackling filled the chamber and hell itself followed: agonized sobs blared in Sokka's ears, laughing flames threw shadows of a one-eyed devil to the wall, burning hair and flesh choked the air, and pints of crimson liquid rained to the floor with ominous splashes. Sokka couldn't breath – his vision filled with circles of light; his hair stood on end. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the commotion stopped, the last cackle and wisp of flame died out and the room was still. Permeating through the silence, Bato's blood dripped at a steady – morbid – pressing – interval, not even the gentle sway of his chain disturbed the gruesome reminder of friends just lost.

Heavy footsteps returned to existence in the room. "I hope you enjoy your night, Hakoda." The general made his exit a casual one, the door at the front of the room creaked on its hinges, slamming shut only a few seconds later. The men sitting above Sokka quietly stood and collected their papers before exiting the room themselves. Sokka clutched his knees to his chest without so much as a twitch to the otherwise. He sat there, listening with bated breath to Bato's repetitious dripping, fearing that if he made a move it would be real, hoping that it could be just a dream and that the morning sun would come and wash it away. The door creaked below him.

He heard two sets of footsteps, knowing by now exactly who it was, "God, this one's already starting to stink!" The twin had a very obnoxious, high-pitched voice; Sokka could barely stand the mocking tone.

"C'mon! Let's just get _this_ one out of here." His father's chain rattled, and a lock clinked open down below. "We'll burn the other one later."

One of the twins (they had the same voice as well, Sokka neither knew nor cared which one this was) jeered at his father, "And I bet you just can't _wait _to get back to your hole by the craper, can you?"

"We'll be sure to keep it from falling in… and we mean it this time!"

"Sure we do!" The pair let out an abominable cackle as they dragged Hakoda through the heavy steel door. Sokka had lain still the whole time, but both new and old hope was beginning to reemerge within him. He had seen the place they were talking of on the way in, by the southwestern tower, he could still finish his mission. He stood up, making careful not to let his gaze venture over the ledge behind him. He walked to the end of the room and felt along the wall until he found the entrance, walking through it into equal darkness. He dropped from the ledge and scuttled around to the other side of the building. Not fifty feet from him, the twins were ushering his father's near dead weight across the field.

Taking very little heed for stealth this time, he jogged out at a moderate distance behind them. Soon they had traversed the length of the stadium and reached what was apparently his father's holding cell. This cell consisted mainly of a large, six-foot hole in the ground with a steel trap door connected to it by a hinge on one side with a clasp at the other end apparently used to lock it shut. Adjacent to the hole was what can only be described as an enormous, steaming, pile of human feces, the excess of which was spilling rampantly into the hole. Sokka approached the threesome of men, "Really, Hakoda, you've been a great sport," The twin on the right slapped his father on the shoulder and started an evil little giggle of his own, "But I'm afraid I still have to put you in a big hole full of old sh—"

Sokka tapped the man on the shoulder. As he turned around, the boy smashed his fist into the unwitting man's face, sending him reeling. Taking advantage of this, he pushed him the rest of the way over the ledge into the hole where he landed with a disgusting _squish_. He turned quickly on the other twin, slashing his bone knife in front of him. The man dodged, hurriedly retaliating with a flamboyant punch. Sokka easily spun around him, leaving the man stumbling at the edge of the pit. Sokka kicked him in the small of the back to topple him over the edge. His brother was scrambling to right himself as the thin form of the man came crashing down on him. Sokka hastily ran around the other side of the pit and threw the door down over the pair before locking it in place.

It was then he realized that his father was standing just behind him. He turned around – a bloody, wounded face stared back at him, motionless. "Dad…?" Hakoda's remaining eye jumped into focus, as if just realizing that his son was there. He put a hesitant foot forward, faltered, and then collapsed as Sokka rushed over to try and support him. The man held his son tightly, desperately almost, trying to make up for lost time, it seemed. "Dad!" Sokka cried ecstatically, holding his bloodied father back arm for arm.

"It's good to see you again son…"

In a long, one-story stable of scorched oak wood, Sokka wracked his mind for some solution to his ever-worsening dilemma. For a fleeting moment, his mission seemed at an end, but with his father in tow, it seemed they would never escape the armored fortress alive. There were armed firebender guards lining the fortress walls, and even more roaming the field and going between various buildings around the stadium, not to mention Hakoda's injuries and diminished mobility. The stable would only provide asylum for so long. The clock was ticking.

Sokka turned and with a subjugated gait went to the water troth in front of one of the komodorhino pins. His father lay on a pile of hay petting one of the beasts near him on the side of the head. Sokka returned to him with a bucket full of water, putting it to his lips to drink. "It's funny," Hakoda said upon finishing his drink, "this is probably one of the only wooden buildings in this place." He was surprisingly upbeat about his situation; a faint smile never left his lips. Sokka was utterly amazed with this strength his father had. Some of his best friends had been in his fleet; he knew all of their pasts, dreams, families – he could never deal with loosing so much in so little time.

Sokka put on his best show of bravado in place of actual heroism, "Dad, I know it looks bad, but I have a plan." Of course, he had no such thing, and he hoped it had not shown through in his voice. Hakoda simply sat in content silence, unlacing his boot with a fatigued hand. "These komodorhinos could be really useful for—"

"No." It wasn't an unkind word, but it made Sokka jump a little besides.

"Uh – your right. I have a better idea anyway, I've seen soldiers carrying wood carts big enough to—"

"That wont work either." Sokka was again surprised at his father's dismissive comments. Hakoda feebly removed his boot and turned the bottom up towards his face. Sokka just sat and stared as the man worked the heel of the garment off with several grunting twists. He was pleasantly surprised to see that the boot contained a hidden compartment containing a roughly folded piece of paper. "I learned this trick in a little town just east of Ba Sing Se."

Hakoda handed the note to him, wincing slightly, though never dropping his smile. "What is it?" Sokka asked, unfolding the paper to reveal a sprawling map with many lines drawn across it.

"It's our sea charts." Even in this hopeless situation, Sokka couldn't help but smile. "Look on the back." He turned the yellowed map over.

"Wait there's something written here… I don't get it."

"What's not to get?"

"Well… it just says to keep away from this island. But if we do that, how are we ever going to defeat Fa-Bei?"

Hakoda laughed weakly, "Son, that _is _how we're going to defeat him." Sokka replied only with a blank stare, "Don't you see? These men are trapped on this island. We already know they are perfectly capable of _building_ things," he made a gesture at the wooden walls around them, "So why haven't they built a boat and left?"

"I thought they were stationed here."

"Here? In the middle of nowhere?"

"Oh… I see."

"Yes, well if they haven't left yet, it's only because they don't know where to go. Besides, there is only one place they _could _go with the resources on this island, and I'm the only one who knows where it is… well, the only one left."

"So _that's _why he was so desperate to find these sea charts!"

"Exactly!"

"But I still don't get it, how is staying away from the island going to defeat Fa-Bei?"

"Listen son, we don't have any reason to occupy this rock, and without us, Fa-Bei and his men can never escape it. If we simply don't attack them, they cease to be a threat altogether."

Sokka examined the map again, "We can take this to the Water navy fleet east of here! Dad, you're a geni—" Sokka looked at his father, something wasn't right. The smile had faded from his father's lips and he was looking down at the floor in front of his feet. "What's wrong?" Hakoda was not quick to answer. He breathed deeply and looked up, making special care not to make eye contact with his son.

"Sokka, that is not the only place where those maps are hidden." Sokka said nothing as Hakoda gingerly raised his pointer finger to his temple, "I have memorized them night after night. I could guide a ship out of here easily." Sokka didn't like where this conversation was going. "I no perfect man, my boy. If Fa-Bei got his hands on me again… It would only be a matter of time before –" Sokka stood up.

"Dad! I swear I'll get you out of here. I'll never let them take you."

Hakoda was very quiet when he next spoke, "…No, you won't." Sokka couldn't take it any more. He fell to his knees, fighting back tears.

"Dad I… I won't let you down. I can do this. I won't—"

"Sokka!" Hakoda's voice split the air like a thunderbolt. Then, he reached out with a feeble arm to grab his son; Sokka held his hand tenderly, "My son. You don't need to prove anything to me. I couldn't ever be prouder of you." He looked into his son's eyes, the smile had returned to his lips.

"But, I can get you out of here!" Hakoda just shook his head, "The komodorhinos—"

"No, there will be none of that. You don't have a chance carrying me around."

"So what? You're just going to _kill_…?" Sokka chocked as the word caught in his throat.

"I'm afraid I can't do that either." Sokka looked up with new hope at his father. Hakoda weakly rolled onto his knees facing away from Sokka, refusing his help as quick as he gave it, "I'm much too weak to do such a thing. It would only be painful, and they would find me before I could bleed to death."

"What are you talking about?" Sokka was beginning to panic. An enormous lump had formed in his chest, he felt dizzy and nauseated.

"Sokka, I have always been proud of you. I couldn't ask for a better son. I know you can do this." His vision cleared up considerably. With a hesitant hand, he drew his blade up from his side. "I love you, my son. Tell your sister the same." His arm felt like it was not his own, moving of its own accord.

Sokka held his weapon high over his head, "I love you too, dad."

* * *

A/N: I really want to know everyone's reaction to this part. What do you think, just _too _awful? Still, it was the whole idea for the story... 


	4. A Lone Wolf

Three men ran down the corridor to a large dining hall in the center of the largest building of the northwestern section. Two of the men were covered from head to toe in rancid brown muck, but even through the filth, they were obviously twins. The last man wore no shirt and had a truly outrageous mustache that curled in neat circles at the sides of his face. The strange threesome was heading directly for a large door of blackened metal at the end of the hallway.

With supreme haste, they heaved the door open to reveal an ornate dining hall occupied by only a platypusbear and a one eyed man in a black cloak. "General! General!" shouted one of the smellier men.

"Halt!" the general boomed, not even looking away from his bear. The men skidded tom a wobbly stop a few feet from him, quickly standing at attention to their superior. Fa-Bei looked to one of the coated men with a surprisingly blank expression, "Private Holt… I think there's something on your tunic." Holt immediately began rubbing his clothes in futility as the general turned his attention to his twin, "Good, Ruun."

"Yes sir!" Called Holt as he took off past the Fa-bei and around the end of his dining table.

"No private, I was talking to Ruun."

"I understand sir!" Shouted Ruun, darting off to follow his sibling around the hall. The bear, excited by the activity, ran after him.

"No! Ruun halt!"

"What do you need sir?" asked Holt.

"I _need _the running to stop!"

Ruun stopped dead in his tracks, much to the bear's chagrin apparently as it began to nudge him in the back, "_Eagerly _awaiting your next command sir!"

"No, you're not understanding – hey, don't touch her!"

"Yes sir?" piped up the mustached man.

"Excuse me, private?" He had been talking about his bear, which was now getting a little too friendly with Ruun for his liking.

"You said my name, Tucher."

"Oh, I hadn't meant – wait, your name is…?"

"Private Tucher, sir."

"…Uh." Suddenly, Fa-bei stuck out his arm. Just as private Holt rounded the table for a second time, his neck met the general's arm, sending him to the ground with a giant _huff_. "Yes, well then." Then general looked at the still stationary Runn, "Ruun." With that, Tucher sprinted off around the end of the table.

"No, Halt!"

"_I _run, sir?" asked Holt.

"No one run!"

"Well I certainly don't want to be _Private Tucher_." Ruun commented through a mouthful of hair.

"I resent that!" said Tucher as he passed him.

"Well _I _resent _that_." Replied Ruun.

"You resent _what_?" asked Holt.

"I resent him resenting."

Tucher slowed down and started to count on his fingers, "So _you _resent _him _for _you _resenting _me_ for –"

"Enough!" clamored the general.

"_I resent that._" Whispered Holt from his place on the ground. Fa-Bei gave him a look that could cut glass before continuing, "I _do _hope you had a good reason to interrupt my time with my precious pet, privates."

"What? Oh, yes!" exclaimed Tucher. "The prisoner has escaped." Came the flatly stated announcement. At this, the twins looked straight at the general, hoping he was not the type to kill the messenger.

"So, how does that explain my two best advisors being covered in _shit_?"

The twins eyes darted simultaneously at the mustached man, "Uh… you see, they were ambushed by a, uh…"

Four eyes found the general once again, "A _what_?"

The twins redirected attentions for a third time, "A… an intruder, sir."

All eyes were on the general, "An intruder who ambushes his enemies with dung?"

The mustache man had the floor, "I, uh… due to unforeseeable cir-circumstance, they were – re-relocated to the prisoner holding facility."

The twins revisited their gaze upon the general, "Hmmm…" He turned walked around the table to the mustache man. "Well I suppose there is no accounting for 'unforeseeable circumstance' now is there?" The threesome breathed a collective sigh of relief, "But," All eyes sprang to the general, "It looks like you have something on your face, private." Fa-Bei made a gesture with his forefinger to an area right around his nose, as the distraught private attempted to locate the presumed scrap of dinner. "Here, allow me." Said the general cordially. With a quick swipe of his hand, Fa-Bei grabbed both ends of his mustache and yanked it right off of his face.

Tucher wasted no time throwing himself to the floor screaming and holding his upper lip. Fa-Bei dropped the 'stache and stepped over the writhing man followed closely by the twins, but not before they bent down and whispered one after the other, "You did good."

"You look better without it anyways."

Just before the door, the general turned to his advisors and brought them in under his arms, "You know, if I have any friends on this _rock_ – it's you two." Four eyes lit up in unison under the embrace of the general, "That's why I'm giving you the special honor of watching my bear!"

"Tank-you, sir!"

"I would be an honor, sir!" Fa-Bei chuckled and released the two before stepping out of the door behind him. From the other side, heavy tumblers fell into place announcing the locking of the door. The brothers found this strange at first, but it all became clear to them as they turned around to meet a 7-foot tall, 1/2-ton behemoth that apparently missed his smelly friends. The general walked down his grand hall wiping rank gunk from under his arms and listening delightedly at the vicious sounds fading out behind him.

"Morons."

Sokka stared into an unknown distance. Flickering light roamed across a room spinning rapid and bleak in his quickly deteriorating vision. Below him lay a heap of what was once his father, an effigy of pain, a monument of unbearable sorrow. The sight was agonizingly heartrending, yet he was all but obsessed with the scene. In his hand he held limply a bloody blade that suddenly seemed alien to him. His father… was dead.

His father was dead. _Dead_. The word pounded in his head like a siren. As he stared, another word could be discerned form the clamor in his mind: _revenge_. "Fa-Bei." he said aloud. Tearing his eyes form the image of his departed father, he wiped the blood on his tunic and sheathed his weapon. There was only one thing on his mind now; he would kill again – soon. But of course he could never match him blow for blow, he would have to use cunning.

In most of the komodorhino pins, the beasts were quietly resting or feeding on piles of hay in the corner of their cells. Some, however, were chained down to the ground, most shaking violently to escape their binds. Inspired, Sokka ran to the end of the structure to a small cubby beside the farthest pin. Inside he found what he was looking for – a long chain with a lock at one end. Working quickly, the boy opened all of the pins holding docile animals, not wanting to risk the more violent ones. Almost all of them seized their freedom willingly and promptly left the stable.

Sokka tied the end of the chain without the lock to his boomerang and locked the other end to a saddle before selecting a mount to place it on. He went out onto the shallow porch, an area mainly consisting of excess supplies and several large posts holding up a thin awning. He looped the chain once around a post at the far end of the stable before jamming the blade of his boomerang into the post beside it a few yards away. Taking to his mount he rode out into the fray of loose animals. It wasn't long before…

"I'll take it _you're _the one who ambushed my men." The voice was cold and all too familiar. Sokka turned to see the general confidently sauntering through the crowd, disappearing and reappearing eerily as the beasts moved about.

He stopped a few feet in front of the boy, staring up at him with a conceited grin. That face – he would never see that face again, he would make sure of it. With a kick, the komodorhino leaped at the black executioner with a terrible snarl. The attack was easily dodged, but followed quickly by another. So began a crazy sort of dance that led the two back and around and back again through the thrash of animals, causing pandemonium to erupt throughout the group. Fa-Bei suddenly found himself dodging not only his opponent, but every beast near him as well. He ran to the only empty space nearby, the alley beside the stable.

Sokka charged wildly at the man in the black cloak, his knuckles white on the reins. The general made an abrupt stop, however, reversing his direction to face the attack and bringing his fists up to strike with a fiery blast. Sokka made a wild jump off the side of his mount, landing just before the beast was struck and sent to the ground itself. With a pained howl, the wounded animal turned tail and ran in the opposite direction, chain dragging along in the dust after it. Sokka lay propped up on his elbows in the dirt, staring at the general with a blank expression. "You Water tribesmen." Fa-Bei walked menacingly towards his fallen prey.

"Savages – the lot of you!" A chain _wized _by along the baking earth at a remarkable pace as the general raised a flaming fist in the air, "You were never any match for the strength of the Fire Nation." The chain reached the end of its length and went taught, pulling on the boomerang in the stable.

"And you were never any match for the cunning of the Water Tribe." The boomerang came loose, swinging at a high speed around its wooden fulcrum. There wasn't even time for the general to drop his smile from the moment he saw it coming towards him – until the blade connected with the side of his head. Sokka stared silently at his victim, unthinking and unfeeling. It felt like a dream that he wanted only to wake up from, but he knew all too well that morning would never come here in the dark woods.

Sokka's thoughts were interrupted by a clamor of sorts coming from behind him. People shouting and swearing – apparently the komodorhinos getting loose had attracted the attention of most of the soldiers away from whatever party they had been having a few hours ago. It was strange for him, how could so little time have passed? The gravity of his actions seemed impossible for the meager time that had elapsed. He stood up, contemplating how he would best escape, but not fearfully. After all he had been through in just this day alone, he could no longer hold himself to the bidding of fear.

He ducked around the stable, making for the southeastern exit. When he reached the edge of the building he found, much to his dismay, that all the guards had been brought to an acute state of awareness by the commotion at the other end of the stable. He was trapped; soldiers were closing in from all sides. It would only be a matter of time – "General!" In the distance, Sokka heard the anguished cry rip the air apart. There was only silence to be heard at first, but soon a panic rose up within the throng of men now abandoning the loose komodorhinos.

The once brash assemblage of warriors was reduced to a formless mob of frightened children who had in an instant lost their father – Sokka suddenly felt bad for them. This sentiment was quickly lost, however, as he realized that the guards manning the gate had already fled their post to join the quickly escalating pandemonium. It was not long afterwards either that the guards posted on the bastions and walls exited through the gate as well. This was his chance; he would not let it slip away.

Sokka darted out from behind the stable, not daring to look back. As he reached the gate, the screams from behind him began to dim, shouts became indistinct. His heart beat wildly in his chest and each breath burned his lungs, but still he did not stop. He ran until he reached the forest, until the horrified bellows of the distraught soldiers did not so much as echo in the trees. He just kept running, but he could only run so far. All at once, he broke the dark, oppressing shadow of the smoke and found himself at an end, blocked by a small, familiar stream. At its quiet banks, he breathed quick and ragged with his hands on his knees.

It was there, in the crystal clear water of that stream that it hit him. Suddenly, he felt a wave of emotion he could not control. It consumed him; he dropped to his knees, shaking all over. He looked up to see what had been reflected there in the water – the full moon glowing peacefully in the stillness of the night. He opened his mouth and from it came an outpouring of grief unlike any he had ever experienced. His howl resonated purely in the cool air, stirring birds in their nests and even shaking leaves from the trees. He remembered now – Bato had once told him something, about a lone wolf in the distance:

"…_it's been separated from the pack. I understand that pain. It's how I felt when the water tribe warriors had to leave me behind. They were my family and being apart from them was more painful than my wounds."_

The words were so clear to him. That was what he was now, a lone wolf. A murderer… completely separated from his dearest loved ones… forever. Again the scream was torn from his lips by the unbearable loneliness in his belly. When his voice was hoarse and his lips dry, he sank his head to his knees and wept quietly. But then a sort of warmth – a sweet, familiar presence – made itself known. He let his gaze rise from his own palms to look into the face of his long-running dream. There she was, right in front of him, just like he remembered her. "Yue."

For a moment, all he could do was stare open-mouthed at her beauty. The radiant gown flowed and fluttered around her, caressing her slim form with silken white. Her hair seemed to glow in the moonlight and her eyes showed with astounding brilliance. It was almost too much for him to bear when she opened her mouth to speak, "Sokka." The word was so clear and pure; it truly _was_ everything he had dreamed of.

Sokka racked his brain for something to say, to release the enigma of what he felt at that moment in simple speech. His mouth began moving, forming with unaided precision around the words, "I'm sorry."

The moon spirit placed a single pale finger on the stunned boy's lips, "No, Sokka. Don't apologize." His breathing quickened, of course he had to apologize! After everything he'd done… Yue seemed to read his mind, "You must not blame yourself for your father's death, or Bato's death, or even my death. You did the best you could: acting out of love and bravery to help those close to you. There is nothing more we could ask – nothing more we could _want_ – from you."

"But everyone keeps leaving me… I – I can't –"

"Sokka, do not think that there is no one who is here for you left in this world. You need only look around yourself, and you will find that you were never missing anyone at all." With that final sentiment, the great spirit lowered her head to the young warriors face. Her lips were cool against his forehead, but strange warmth emanated from them, spreading all over his body. He longed for that contact to never end, for the two of them to remain together in the soft moonlight

He felt arms wrap him in a close embrace, a familiar voice entered unwillingly into his consciousness, "_Sokka, Sokka, wake up!"_ His eyes fluttered open and quickly closed again against the bright sunlight. "Sokka… oh, please wake up." His vision adjusted slightly and he could now make out the bleary form of a dark haired girl in a blue dress.

"What happened?" Sokka groaned.

Katara hugged him close again, fresh tear stains evident on her cheeks, "Thank goodness!" She loosened her grip and wiped her face with the back of her hand, " For a moment," she chuckled to hide her fear, "It's just we've been looking for over a day… I thought I had lost another one."

Sokka looked at her. Now, she seemed different, or maybe he was different. Maybe he was really looking at her for the first time, "So did I."

"What?"

The boy just shook his head, "It's nothing, where's Toph and Aang?"

"Oh! They're back at camp." She stood up, pulling her brother to his feet. Suddenly, Sokka's eyes widened; he began searching the insides of his tunic frantically. "Is something wrong?" Sokka gave up on his search. He could remember everything that had just happened… everything that had happened so long ago. He made a decision.

"Don't worry about it, it's nothing." Katara looked at him quizzically, "Really!" He assured her, putting on his best-"unbothered" face. "Now come on, let's go back to camp. I'm _starving_!" Katara smiled and hugged her brother again before turning around and leading the way out of the clearing.

A small group of official-looking men walked down the hallway of the great steel building in the northwestern sector of the stadium. "Well, what are we gonna' do now?" drawled the first man, a long and tall figure with very long, stringy hair.

"This is very bad, very, _very _bad!" the second man was short and pudgy, with a terrible comb-over and greasy skin. He seemed to speak in an overly hurried tone, made more urgent by his waddle-like walk.

"Will you two calm down! We'll do the only honorable thing, and just what the great general would have wanted us to do: we seek revenge." This last man was only slightly taller than the second man, but his body was all gross bulges of muscle. His voice had a certain drama to it, loud and grumbling. He was fidgeting with the end of his long ponytail with one hand and sliding his other hand along the edge of some blade attached to his hip.

"Revenge? But how?" spluttered the squat man.

"Yeah, we don't even know who done it." Pointed out the tallest of the group. Just before the group reached the end of the large door at the end of the hallway, they broke off and went into a side room. It was small, with only one four-person square table in the center of it. On the table lay a map with depictions of tides, landmarks, and ports.

"We may not know _who_, my good man," The last man removed the blade from its place on his hip – a slender, blue boomerang. "But we know it was a waterbender," He walked over to the map on the table, "And we know just where we can find waterbenders, now don't we? The black executioner will not die in vain…" With that, he raised the boomerang over his head, bringing it down with terrible force onto the table. The blade split the map cleanly – right over a small, lone patch of land marked with a Water Tribe symbol….

* * *

A/N: Well, it's been fun. If you liked this, keep a look out for _Memories... _like, soon. 


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